Found Once More
By TimmyMWD

Some time before the Hour of the Wolf …

Alnar’s mind struggled to find the words needed to describe the sensations that were rolling over his body. Certainly, he had expected what his eyes presented him. As far as he could see, bones of the long dead completely covered the plain. But it was his other senses that were providing him with the true euphoria he was now feeling. Dimly, more quiet than a whisper, Alnar Darkblade could hear the sounds of battles fought millennia ago playing out for all of eternity. He could smell and taste the blood of battle, as if Khaine himself had suspended the sensations of combat over the island for all eternity. All around him, his fellow black robed elves reveled in the same sensations Alnar was taking in. Looking ahead he saw that their pilgrimage was almost complete, as the black altar of Khaine loomed ever closer.

Although he knew he could never draw the weapon forged by Vaul, Alnar had pondered for months in what form it would appear to him. To his brother, it appeared as a longbow. To his father, it was in the form of a Cothiquan trident. His personal lust to see the weapon of Khaine almost eclipsed his religious desire to visit the altar.

Continuing his march, Alnar looked past his fellow devotees and into the bones once more. Above the sensations of battle, he could feel something in the bones. He did not see or hear anything; rather it felt as if his heart itself was being called. Without any thought or decision on his part, he suddenly found himself walking to his right, out of the group and over the bodies of the long dead. He could hear the other elves demand he stop, but it was if he heard them through water – they were distant, unclear, muddled. His hearing began to fade and his eyesight turned black on the edges, narrowing his field of vision to a small mound of bones a few paces in front of him.

After a few more slow and confused steps, he finally saw something besides bones. Glinting in the sun, Alnar could see untarnished ithilmar armor almost entirely covered by bones. His intentions now focused, he rushed towards the object with reckless abandon. Others must have seen it too, he thought, because now their calls for him to return stopped and instead he heard bones snapping as other elves ran in his wake. Reaching the mound, he quickly brushed aside skulls and ribs to become almost blinded by the sun’s light reflecting off the armor. The suit and helm were intricate, constructed by what he assumed were the Priests of Vaul before the gods left Ulthuan in their jealous fit. The runes were beautiful, but all were dark save those that drew their power from Kaela Mensha Khaine. He grasped the breastplate by the sides and picked it up to study it more.

By this time, the other elves had caught up to where he knelt and were standing around him, looking at the armor. Above the whispers of curiosity, a cold voice rang out, “Do you know what you have found, Alnar Darkblade?”

Alnar sneered. Tethlis was the leader of their pilgrimage. His devotion to Khaine and the slaughter of combat was second to none, but his obsession with self-glory left him little friends. “A finely constructed suit of armor, Tethlis. I have seen none like it, in fact. Clearly, based on the runes, it was made before our gods abandoned us.”

Although Alnar could not see Tethlis, he could tell the elf was sneering from the way he spoke his next sentence, “Alnar, you are young and I will look over your ignorance. This armor is not just ancient, it is the armor of Aenarion himself.” At this point, Alnar turned around to face Tethlis in disbelief. Tethlis looked down at Alnar, “We shall present it to our glorious king as a sign of Khaine’s favor. Clearly, he smiles at our devotion to his ways.”

Standing up to celebrate with his fellow Khanites, Alnar suddenly heard an unmistakable sound. Behind him now, close by, an arrow was fired from a longbow. Before he could ponder if his mind was playing tricks on him, one of the robed pilgrims to his left collapsed in an ever-increasing pool of blood. The pilgrims drew their blades and scanned around the plain of bones. The seventeen remaining pilgrims saw six other elves appear around them. They wore brilliant suits of ilithmar scale armor, covered by royal blue cloaks. Their longbows were drawn, and they began to pick off the pilgrims one by one, their ritual robes offering no protection against the arrows.

Ducking to the ground, Alnar looked at Tethlis for leadership, “What must we do? Who are these elves!?” Certainly they were not the bastard half breeds of Sarthailor, Alnar thought, they would never be able to get near a site as revered as the Blighted Isle.

Tethlis looked at Alnar and began to form a reply on his lips, but before he could Alnar watched in horror as a blade erupted from Tethlis’ ribcage. From behind Tethlis, another elf placed his boot on the now dying elf’s back and pulled the sword back out. This elf was not one of the six, but was a fellow pilgrim. He removed his hood to reveal features he had not seen on an elf of Ulthuan. His eyes showed no malice, no hatred for the gods or the half-breeds. Two more pilgrims had also removed their hoods, and were driving their blades into the backs and sides of Alnar’s fellow Khainites. In the distance, the six mail-armored elves now ran in with weapons drawn to assist the traitors.

Crawling on the ground, Alnar pushed his way through a few feet of bones to reach the armor he had found only moments before. Grabbing the breastplate, he held it high in the air and begged, “Take the armor, I have done nothing but serve Khaine!”

One of the traitor pilgrims walked over to where Alnar was and took the armor from him. Alnar’s eyes were closed for fear of being struck by a sword, but he immediately opened them after he felt a wave of magical energy come over him. Looking up, the once dead runes on Aenarion’s armor now glowed brilliantly. Alnar was breathless as he saw the bright blue rune of Asuryan radiate before him. The sight of the runes was so beautiful to him that he almost overcame his hatred for the pantheon of gods that had abandoned his people. The feeling lasted only for a moment, and his malice filled eyes narrowed as he spat at the armor. “Those runes disgust me.”

He could hear a voice behind him, “And you disgust me. Look at what has become of our race.” Still focused on the runes, Alnar had no time to react to the sounds of the elf behind him, and he gasped in pain as a sword pierced his rib cage from behind. Collapsing onto the ground with agony, he watched as the six armored elves and the three traitors began to sprint away with the armor and helm of Aenarion. Even as they grew further and further away, even as his own vision faded from him, he could still see the runes of the elven gods glowing brightly. His last thought before he left this world was how the runes were dead when he had touched them.

Although none of the pilgrims were left alive to see it, and none of the mysterious elves had any intent to look at it, from the moment the runes of Aenarion’s armor glowed brightly again, the Widowmaker began pulsing with dark energy. When the strange elves boarded their Eagleship on the coast and departed the Blighted Isle, a beam of dark energy lanced into the night sky. It was a show of force and defiance, meant for no mortal being.